#hoathememonth

A stretch of dark red rope passed before his eyes, looping around him again. Jason sat naked on the bed as Salim worked on him.

Arms secured behind his back, legs folded beneath him as he knelt, Salim wrapped him up in layers of soft, twined cotton. The rope started with double loops around his neck, coiling around itself at his nape before falling down his spine. Salim crisscrossed the two parts into a simple knot, then detoured to cross the cord around both hips, before circling to his back and continuing down.

The cotton wound around the top of his thighs, connecting that to his ankles and rounding back to his thighs. Slanted lines crossed above his ass, then Salim snuck it in an intricate weave over his abs, looping around his arms to secure them to his back.

According to the design Salim had chosen, his chest was the last part to be tied up before the rope connected to the part around his neck, completing the pattern and outlining his pecs.

It sat snug around his body so far. Not too tight, but strong and secure, shifting across his skin with every minor movement. The rope wasn't scratchy, but soft and warm. The press of the rope to his skin felt like Salim was touching him all over, holding him everywhere. Like Salim was fully in control of his body.

He was almost erect just from the combination of Salim manhandling him and getting tied up. It couldn't be anything else; Salim sat at his back, hidden from view, and hadn't given his dick any attention so far.

Salim had his chin propped up on his shoulder as he wound the harness of rope around his torso. In his peripheral vision, Jason saw Salim's face set in a look of focused determination.

The pattern started outlining his pecs, and Salim steered it back and forth until the line came close to his nipple. After a couple tugs, the line was set and held with one hand. Salim placed the palm of his other hand against Jason's pec, smoothing it up and down as he massaged the muscles there.

"How is it?" Salim asked. "It's not pinching anything?"

Jason rolled his eyes. Rope burn wasn't going to be the death of him, especially since Salim had insisted he buy the smoothest set the sex shop had. "I can handle some goddamn rope."

Salim's thumb swiped over his nipple, slowly dragging back and forth, and Jason arched his back, pressing his chest into the touch. The spike of pleasure spread throughout his body, pooling low in his stomach and straining tight around itself as Salim kept playing with his chest, nipping at his jaw. "You'll tell me if it's uncomfortable."

It had been one of Salim's stipulations before they tried this out. A fair, fixed limit, Jason thought. For both of them. But the authority behind Salim's voice dragged rough against something inside of him, and he swallowed down a moan.

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding. He felt the weight of Salim's gaze on him as he acquiesced, but no further questions came.

Salim continued work on the rope, crossing both ends underneath the same line. It undid part of the pattern, making Salim hiss something in Arabic.

Jason knew that word. It wasn't a nice word.

Once he'd fixed his mistake, Salim held up the two ends in his hands, raising one end above the other before switching their positions.

From the corner of his eye, Jason saw the tip of Salim's tongue poke out as he weighed his decision.

His thoughts kept drifting back to what Salim was doing to him, overwhelming his rational side, and making thinking as difficult as swimming against the tide. Still, his superiors hadn't described him as the best of the best for nothing, and he fought to focus through the fog, gathering his words.

He angled his head, pulling up the corner of his lips in a smirk. "C'mon, Salim. It ain't rocket science."

Salim acted like he hadn't heard at first. One of the ends proved victorious as he picked it, carefully slipping it under the straight line before he pulled it taut across his chest.

Then Jason felt a set of lips press against the shell of his ear, temple against temple.

"Behave," Salim said.

Salim's voice was low and intimate, but the word seared into his mind. His stomach swooped down in a rush, and this time, he couldn't stop his reaction.

"Fuck," the word fell from his mouth.

Salim hadn't demanded it like a command, yet his muscles stilled, his entire body relaxing into the secure hold of the rope, obeying before he could even think of the alternative. His cock stiffened further, betraying how he felt while he was at Salim's mercy.

He couldn't move, couldn't do anything to cover it. He couldn't even deflect — they'd been together for years, and Salim knew him inside and out. He would see right through it.

Salim paused at the sight, letting the long lengths of rope dangle from his hold. The very ends lay atop his thighs, curving like a snake, brushing against his balls and so, so close to the base of his cock.

"Interesting," Salim noted, making Jason's stomach clench.

Although he'd been working on it with Salim, he was used to battling his feelings, masking the ones he couldn't repress. Lying to himself if he needed to.

In this position he could hide nothing. All of him was bared and exposed, controlled by Salim. A sharp tension wired through his body, keeping him on edge while his thoughts centered on Salim. Salim's words and actions and proximity, they all flooded his brain.  

"Do you like being obedient for me, Jason?" Salim asked. As if he needed to.

Jason's chest rose as he breathed in deep, trying to keep cool. He fidgeted, tugging on his arms, but the rope didn't budge. The extent of how tied up he was cemented itself in his brain all over again, instincts warning him how vulnerable he was. He refused the whimper that bubbled up inside him, and grunted instead.

"You ain't my CO."

"And yet I'm not wrong," Salim said, voice rich and rumbling right by his ear.

Behind him, Salim began to move again, pressing close against his back and arms as he finished tying him up. Jason unclenched his fingers, seeking out the familiar muscles of Salim's abs while a covered erection brushed against his ass.

"I think you like being good for me." Salim's hot breath puffed against his cheek.

Now that he was finished, Salim slid his fingers under the double lines of rope wound around his torso. Fingertips traced the soft material spanning taut over his chest, around his back, and down to his ass, teasing the sensitive spots of his body. The constant touch of the rope against those places only heightened the sense of inescapable comfort.

The rope raised just enough for the tip of Salim's finger as he went. Since the rope didn't stretch, the rest of it dug into his skin a little. Once Salim had passed, it settled against his skin once more, keeping him wrapped up tight.

His eyes unfocused, their bedroom wall blurring before him, and he let his head fall back against Salim's shoulder.  

"You are, ya helo," Salim promised, propping him up, hands roaming over his body, "you are."

His breath shuddered out of him at the words, and he rolled his hips, rocking into the empty air. "Salim, sweetheart," he coaxed. His voice slurred, almost turning Salim's name into a single syllable.

Christ, if Salim asked him to, he might just beg for something for the first time in his life.

"It's okay," Salim soothed, palming down his chest and stomach. "I'll give you what you want. You're in good hands, hm?"

Jason didn't chuckle at the joke. Salim did.

Then Salim stopped just short of touching his dick and withdrew his hand.

Jason groaned, helpless to stop it while every part of his body strained to follow the touch. He sat on the bed alone, cool air whishing over the heated skin of his back. When he peeked behind him to complain, he saw Salim was removing his underwear, and he clicked his mouth shut.

The cap of their bottle of lube snapped open, and the mattress creaked at a sudden move from Salim.

Oh.

He twisted his bound body as far as he could, watching as Salim reached back and began to prep himself. It made sense; he couldn't very well prepare Salim with his hands tied behind his back. But up until now, he had always insisted on prepping Salim when he'd fuck him.

He loved drawing out the pleased sighs Salim made when he worked him open, and the soft moans when he crooked his fingers against his prostate, and the way Salim squirmed on his fingers when he scissored them deep inside of him.

His heartbeat sped up, tension twisting in the pit of his stomach, pulling on his muscles. "Darlin', y'gotta hurry up."  

"Eyes front, Lieutenant."

"Fuck," he grumbled, but turned to face the wall ahead of him. With his eyes turned away, all he could do was listen. His ears picked up the wet sounds of Salim opening himself up, accompanied by his own ragged breathing.

His neglected cock twitched, and his fingers curled around nothing even as he heard the slick slide of Salim's lubed fingers working intently.

After enough time had passed, Salim moved in front of him.

Jason swept his eyes down Salim's body, naked and flushed and gorgeous. His body sought out Salim's desperately, straining against the rope tying him down. He wanted to feel those muscles pressed against his own.

With a swing of his leg, Salim sat down, straddling his lap and resting some of his weight on Jason's legs. Salim retrieved the lube, coating his other hand in it. Once he deemed it sufficient, Salim then closed the slick hand around Jason's erection, stroking up and down to spread the lube.

Jason's eyes closed in relief, his lips parting as he huffed out another curse. After nothing for so long, he finally had Salim's strong grip around his cock.

Seconds passed by until he had a liberal coating and Salim rose up, shuffling the last few inches closer. With one hand he steadied himself on Jason's shoulder. With the other, he lined the two of them up. Then he sank down, inch by inch.

Jason craned his head back, staring up at Salim's face as he took him in until his cock was buried to the hilt.

It wrung a moan out of him, his body melting into the restraints as he felt the hot pressure of Salim all around him.

"Oh, Jason, habibi," Salim whispered into the air between them, "that — you feel amazing."

As Salim said it, he rocked his hips a bit, the move making him clench around Jason. Salim's arms came to rest on his shoulders, wrists crossing behind his neck in a loose embrace. Salim lifted up, Jason's cock dragging out of him, and inched back down.

Jason stared as Salim's eyes shut halfway. A flush spread over Salim's cheeks and he gasped around the stretch of Jason's cock inside of him.

Jason's eyes watered, tearing up as he squeezed them shut. He had no control over the pace as Salim slowly fucked himself on his cock. The tight heat drew him in fully as he slid deep inside of Salim, over and over again.

"Perfect," Salim said, mouth seeking out his in a deep kiss before he pulled back, whispering against his lips. "Always so perfect for me."

Beads of sweat trickled down his spine, and Jason blinked his eyes open as Salim's thumb wiped away a tear that had spilled. A fraught tension coiled in his groin, ready to snap. "Salim, I—" he broke off when Salim took him in again, "—fuck, Salim, I'm so goddamn close." His voice turned rough as he forced the words out.

"Not yet," Salim said, shaking his head, and Jason wanted to shout. Salim kissed him again, angling their heads together as he lapped into his mouth. One of Salim's hands cupped the back of his head, combing through his short hair. "Don't come yet. Will you do that for me?"

Salim didn't ask if he could and it didn't matter. He would, for Salim.

He could barely manage a small, shaky nod, but judging by how Salim's smile widened, he'd caught it.

Every part of him felt under Salim's control as Salim rose and sank, again and again, arms bracketing his head as he looked at Jason with nothing but love and bliss. And that was all that mattered to him in that moment. His head emptied of everything except Salim, drawing him down into a hazy wave of pleasure. The rope and Salim surrounded him entirely.

"You have no idea how good you look right now, how good you make me feel," Salim spoke to him, voice heavy and scorching. "You always give me what I need, hayati."

His chest heaved as he sucked in air, gasping for more until he ended up panting, muscles shaking with the effort not to let this break him, not to come yet.

As Salim's hips rocked back down, he pressed another kiss to his mouth, before he pulled back to let out a long groan. Jason rode along the edge of his impending orgasm. He felt torn and unbalanced as he kept pulling himself away from cresting that edge while everything Salim did kept pushing him towards it.

"Filling me up just how I want. So deep, so hard," Salim moaned, "so good. Thank you, Jason."

Jason groaned, both from the praise and the way Salim's hips lifted a few inches only before sinking back down. Fuck, he had never been this close for this long before, but for Salim...

"You've been perfect, Jason. You can come now," Salim allowed.

His eyes crossed a little before rolling back into his head, and he came apart, tension snapping as he spilled inside of Salim, straining against his bonds.

He could feel the way Salim tightened around him before joining him with a rough sound.  

He crumbled. But the rope was there, holding him together. And when he came down from his high, Salim ran his hands along the harness of rope again, drawing him back to himself.

"Oh, we're doin' that again," he said, his voice cracking.

Eric regarded the man in front of him. He didn’t know the Iraqi’s name, only that he remembered thinking the soldier had caused Rachel’s death. He could have sworn he’d seen the man impaled in the fight they’d narrowly escaped from, but amidst the noise and chaos, what actually happened was anyone’s guess. As far as Eric could tell now, the man was standing, albeit bleeding profusely from a wound on his left shoulder. 

The last thing Eric remembered about the fight was Clarice. Clarice over him, pressing him down, snarling and screaming, grey skin slick with sweat as she leant over his neck, impossibly strong, and him unable to fight back. And then he opened his eyes, and he was alive, alone with the enemy.

“Did you save me?” Seemed like a good opener. He had no trust for this person, seemed barely able to see him as another human being, but there was no other possibility. The other man, for his part, shrugged, winced, and said something harsh in Arabic. OK, so, they could not understand each other with words. That wasn’t going to help. 

Eric looked around. They were in a small room with a single entrance. Intricate carvings lined the walls, and what seemed to be furniture looked as if it was growing organically from the floor. There was very little noise to be heard, far away and unrecognisable. Eric patted himself down. A few scrapes and bruises, some cuts administered by Clarice, and his right knee was beginning to ache, but he seemed mostly intact. He pointed to his own shoulder, then to his unlikely companion.

“We need to take care of that.”

More Arabic Eric didn’t understand, as the man fingered his wound and hissed in pain. He was wearing hideous eyeglasses from the 1980s, a green beret, and although he was unarmed Eric could tell he was the leader of the group that had interrupted their mission. Most of his mind told him he did not want to help this man, that he still had his gun, that he should shoot him and be done with it, but a small voice held his hand. Instead, he crossed the distance and began to inspect the wound. Despite spitting more harsh Arabic, the man seemed mostly content to let Eric do whatever he wanted. Understandable since they had both recently discovered demons existed. 

Eric unclipped and shouldered off his backpack, rifling through it for a small, mostly empty med-kit and his bottle of water.

“Sit on that,” he said, pointing to a stone rise. The man sat - his eyes and voice were the only things about him that carried any menace; his body betrayed his exhaustion and fear. American soldiers he could, probably gladly, handle. Demons were outside his wheelhouse. Eric wondered how religious the man was. While he worked, unbuttoning and slipping the shirt shoulder down, Eric pointed to himself like he was talking to Tarzan, and said “Eric”. After a very pregnant pause, the other man said “Dar”. 

The wound wasn’t as life-threatening as it first appeared; bloody, yes, but superficial. Eric could wash and bind it easily with what he had. It would definitely need stitches, and probably several tetanus shots… Would tetanus shots even help against demonic wounds? Eric tried not to think about it, his hand unconsciously going to the scratches on his neck. Dar tilted his head as Eric did up his shirt buttons and dusted off his collar. He pointed to his own neck and said something. Eric didn’t need to understand Arabic to know it was along the lines of ‘you should have shot her’.

“Yeah, well, you win some and you lose some. You shouldn’t have shot at me and my wife.” 

An uneasy image of Rachel kissing Nick surfaced in Eric’s mind. He tried to shut it out but that only made it more vivid. He shook his head. Whatever was going on, they’d deal with it later. He had to get out of here alive first. 

It took long moments for the unlikely duo to get moving. They both had a drink of water from Eric’s canteen but the difficulty of having to leave this little safe room was a weight that seemed too hard to carry. But the corridor was empty too, and as they made their way back to the chamber they met nothing and no one. Eric picked up the UV light that had been discarded on the floor. It needed some work but wouldn’t be too hard to fix. He felt his insides run cold as Dar located and reloaded his rifle, but the Iraqi merely shouldered it and looked around. When he gestured and started off, speaking to Eric even as he moved away, Eric knew his words were orders along the lines of “follow me, we need to move, we need to escape” and finding himself blindly following the Iraqi who had naturally taken the lead seemed equally natural to Eric. He never wanted to be in command anyway. He had just wanted to see Caelus work.

They were greeted by emptiness. Empty rooms, empty halls, empty cries from far away. Occasionally Eric would find a piece of paper written in the same manner as the recording he and Rachel had found. He would read them out to Dar who would watch him speak without actually understanding. The man was tired, Eric could see that, he’d experienced a paradigm shift in the worst way - charging into a battle he probably thought would win him glory only to discover a world within a world within the world he’d spent probably more than 40 years occupying with the same set of beliefs and morals and opinions. Eric felt the ground sway beneath him sometimes, but he tried not to dwell on it. Too fucking much had happened; he’d spiral out of fucking control if he didn’t hold on. So they kept going. Kept going until they reached what could only have been a jail, one single solitary skeleton, warped beyond the confines of humanity, pressed desperately against the bars of a cage. They both stood staring at it for longer than was safe - this is what happened to Clarice. She’d been with him, there for him, helping him, for months - and this is how she would end. A forgotten skeleton buried in Iraq’s Atlantis. 

“What a waste.” Said Eric.

“Hmm.” Said Dar.

There was an arrow drawn in the dirt at the far end of the prison. JK, NK, RK written out next to it in various levels of neat. Bent and broken bars allowed access further into hell, and Eric’s team was down there. Which meant there was only one way to go. Dar scrunched up his nose, understanding fully that there were only more dirty Americans this way, but dirty Americans were better than being eaten alive. Eric climbed through first, and then assisted Dar, who was still hurting, and physically larger than the svelte Colonel. 

“When we get topside, you need to see a doctor,” Eric tapped his own shoulder. 

“Something something medic something something.” Was all Eric got out of Dar’s reply. But he didn’t need a translator to know it probably meant ‘you shot our medic’.

Eric was surprised to come across not only a waterfall, but two thick blue ropes from the climbing gear they had brought. How far down had his team gone? How was this going to get them out? How was he going to get Dar down the rope? Probably out of spite. Eric tried not to enjoy the idea too much. He was still pretty sure that he wasn’t really sure about the guy.

“Looks like we need to go down,” he made a show of looking over the edge, “that might be hard for you, with your shoulder,” Eric gently touched the wound like a concerned parent, “but I’ll help you. If this is the way we have to go, well, we’ll just go slowly.”

The flat, over the glasses look Dar was giving him suggested to Eric that Dar was used to dealing with soldiers far younger than himself who took their roles less than seriously and that he was no stranger to being pandered to. But he did get down and shimmy to the bottom by himself, and smirk smugly at Eric who descended slower. Eric retaliated by showing Dar his prosthesis before realising they were acting like children and clearing his throat with no small amount of embarrassment. The language barrier and the fact that he almost caused Rachel to fall to her death aside, Dar was just a normal human being who took pride in his country. Eric could relate to that. 

“God, that’s a weird fucking concept.” Eric accidentally whispered to himself. Fortunately, Dar did not understand. 

It was only after they’d departed that the fact that they’d walked past an underground waterfall mostly without acknowledging it surfaced in Eric’s mind. He put that thought away immediately. 

They were both looking down into the spiralling green haze as an elevator lazily, and loudly, made its way back up to their level. Dar, in what Eric had decided was an uncharacteristic emotional pitch, let out approximately two minutes of verbal vomit as his fists clenched around the wooden barricade that prevented them from falling to their potential deaths. Eric didn’t have any words - all he could see was what his brain was telling him was a toxic cloud and all he could hear was Dar, the screech of chains, and the rapidly approaching scream of winged death. They had no choice but to descend. If they stayed here, surely they would die. But what would they find at the bottom of this shaft? The dead bodies of Eric’s team - a labyrinth they could not possibly hope to escape from - freedom? Someone had decided that going down was worth all this effort, maybe the same people who had been leaving behind diaries and dynamite.

The elevator ride was wildly unpleasant. 60 years had passed since its construction and while it worked, it made Eric and Dar uncomfortable enough to grip the sides of the compartment. Eric even considered praying. He wondered if that’s what Dar was doing. But it passed. The elevator hid the bottom gently, in a cave that opened up into a tunnel, with deep blue stone walls and illuminated patches of green lights. Bio-luminescent fungus, perhaps. As they walked along, Eric touched Dar’s arm, pointed to the fungus, and shook his head ‘do not touch that’ - Dar nodded, and then pointed to Eric’s right leg ‘don’t step on it either’. Eric felt the side of his lips crook up and he forced them back into a straight line. The mouth of the cave allowed some pale light in, coming closer and closer. Eric hoped to see a familiar face waiting for him. What he saw instead, he knew, would stay with him for the rest of his life.

“Oh Jesus… oh fuck…” Eric slipped to his knees as the great cavern screamed out in front of him. ‘I am a man of science’ he thought, but the thought slipped away. Not demons… not demons… not demons.

A ship. It could not be anything else, vast and gargantuan and unholy. A floating city meant for another place. Dar stood unmoving beside him and Eric’s hands grasped at nothing. This… this is what Caelus had found. Proof of life beyond earth - proof of life from the stars. How long had this city rested here, undisturbed? Why had those explorers decided to hide this place from the rest of the world. They could have bought an army here, brought this city to the surface, given this gift to all of humanity but they hid it away, allowed the monsters to fester and breed, made what should be heaven into hell. And Eric found it. Something from Eric’s heart and hands and mind found it - the world must know. He would tell everyone. It was a gift.

And then he felt Dar kneel beside him. Watched the older man lay down his rifle and pray. A man of science and man of faith, standing at the precipice of a new world. Something in Eric melted away then, the last vestiges of wry pride that failure had begun to strip away from him. He put his hand on Dar’s uninjured shoulder and began to speak.

“I am sorry. We thought there were weapons here. I thought there were weapons here. I brought soldiers when I should have brought scientists. This place, this is a part of your country’s history - that temple should be returned to your people. This city should be everyone’s to see and admire and learn from. I don’t regret coming here. But I do regret why I came.”

Eric took a deep breath.

“I didn’t need to, but… but a part of me didn’t just want to hand Caelus over. I guess I wanted  Rachel, my wife, to see what kind of man I was. To see me smart and strong and just… fall back into my arms. It’s been hard without her. I blamed her for the accident because she was driving but she was never really to blame. When we separated she said it was over, and when I came back she said nothing had changed. And I wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t fucking listen. But it’s so small now, it seems so goddamn small. Look at this.” 

Eric looked at Dar and smiled, “look at this.”

Dar was quiet for a long moment. He seemed to be considering Eric, deciding whether or not he was a person worthy of life. A person worthy to sit here, in a country he didn’t belong in, and smile at the infinite meaningless of their tiny existence. And then he gave a short laugh, and took off his glasses. He felt around in his pockets but didn’t find what he was looking for, and then he laughed again. Eric couldn’t help it, he laughed too - it looked like the man had simply lost his wallet. But then Dar began to talk, and although Eric couldn’t understand him, he listened.

<I don’t regret what I am. What I have done, I have done for the good of my country. I believe in my country, and in the Glory of Allah, and in my people. But I feel… I know that I have been holding on for the wrong reasons. I go to battle for Iraq, but it is not Iraq in my heart when I hold my rifle. When I command my troops, or when I kill another man. My wife, Farah, she died. It has been years and her death has not left me. I have not moved on. Her ghost breathes inside my heart. I wish nothing more than for her spirit to find it’s place in divine paradise, but I hold her here, with me. There are so many other things to live for. I think… I think it is time I let her go…>

Eric watched as Dar prayed again, and then pulled the Iraqi to his feet. Everything was different now, everything felt lighter. But they had to push on, they had to find the others and escape. This miracle would never again be buried beyond the veil. Eric handed Dar his rifle, and they started off again, slowly, one leg and one arm not quite up to the task of climbing over rocks. But then they heard it, gunfire in the distance, and it spurned them on. Normally one tends to run away from gunfire but down here it could only mean one thing: humans. 

Eric saw Nick first, firing into the attacking aliens. Rachel was behind him, then Jason. They were running towards a rock face, disappearing into a crack at the base of the wall. Nick mock saluted Eric as he ran past, sparing a “sergeant” as he went. The noise was terrible, screeching and screaming and gunfire. But it dulled under the stone wall, as Eric pushed himself along with an ever stiffening right leg, checking over his shoulder to ensure Dar and Nick were behind him. Rachel pulled him up at the other end.

“Well, that was pleasant,” said Eric sarcastically, turning around to help Dar to his feet.

The exclamation of “Salim!” caught Eric off guard, and he turned, surprised to see Kolchek (of all people) hovering around the other Iraqi survivor. Dar and Salim seemed guarded around each other, speaking stiffly in Arabic as Eric tried not to eavesdrop (or as much as you can eavesdrop when you don’t understand the language). Instead he focussed on Nick and Rachel, both of whom looked worse for wear. 

“What happened?” Eric took in Rachel’s dishevelled appearance with more acute interest than he did Nick. It was easy to see the guy was wounded, no need for a thorough examination. And while he felt lighter in his heart, recovering from the perceived act of betrayal would take time. He wasn’t ready to welcome them both with open arms, but he was glad to see they were alive, and mostly unharmed. Rachel’s eyes shifted to the floor and back.

“Nick was thrown across the chamber, and one of those things came at me. I didn’t see where Nick went but I felt like I’d reached the end, that I was alone, and that the thing… the alien… was going to be the end of me. But I fought long enough for Clarice to save me…” “Clarice?” Dar pulling Eric away must have disoriented his former assistant. 

“Yeah - they went for each other. I’m not sure why. Maybe she wanted to save me, maybe she didn’t want to share. Whatever it was, it let me get away. You were gone, Nick was unconscious. It was a fucking mess.” “By the time I came to, Clarice and the thing had fucked off, god knows where. She ain’t dead, I’d put money on it. We’ll see her again.” Nick didn’t sound angry.

“You think she can be cured?”

“Sir I just found out aliens are real. Ain’t much I don’t believe in.”

They were interrupted by Kolchek asking for a provisions check, and it was pretty piss poor, apart from the dynamite and C4. Eric sat somewhere apart from the group and set to repairing the UV light, at least he could contribute something else to their meagre arsenal. Dar came and sat by him, rifle across his lap, watching Kolchek and Salim dance awkwardly around each other as Salim tried to read from a book. It was quiet again, almost peaceful, the chamber they were in could have been called beautiful, but there was no long peace down here. Very little hope strung the companions together, so when Salim began to fiddle with a large organic-looking machine in the centre of the chamber, despite the meditative music it produced, it only served to darken the minds of the soldiers. They had decided to take the initiative - to stop waiting for something to happen and make it happen. To take the dynamite and the C4 into the heart of hell and plant it, hoping not only to decimate the alien population, but hoping also that the confusion of the explosion would be distraction enough for them to escape. That was a lot of hoping, when there wasn’t much of it to go around. But Salim and Jason seemed tied to this plan, as though they were a single unit, and Eric found he could barely remember the bravado of the Americanised Marine as he was when they first met. So much had changed, in all of them. Eric felt in his heart, his heart of science and learning and curiosity, that this time - this time they’d get it right.

But when push came to shove, no one wanted to plant the dynamite. It was a suicide mission, death waited at the end. They had no straws to draw, and short of dealing up a game of rock-paper-scissors, there was no real fair way to decide who got to go, unless they volunteered. 

“I’ll do it,” he was the one who wanted the world to see this place after all, he should be the one to mark it with his life.

“Sir, with all due respect, what do you know about dynamite?”

“With zero respect, Nicholas, I know enough.”

“Uhuh, I’m coming with you.”

Both Eric and Rachel began to protest, Jason just telling Nick not to be such a fucking martyr, but Nick held up his hand.

“Shut up, all of you. I’m doing this. Just… watch my back.”

“I’m still coming,” Eric held up the UV light, “I can literally watch your back.”

With Jason on the radio, and Salim with a pair of binoculars, Rachel and Dar helped Eric and Nick drop down into the maze below. They moved as quickly and quietly as possible, and they had to be guided, but with the barest of luck, they met nothing. Nick found a spot to plant the first brick, and Eric kept watch. The lack of attention was nerve-wracking. What was going on? “First lot down,” Nick whispered to him, and they moved on. 

The air seemed to be moving around them. Not in the way a breeze might move it, but it pressed against them with is stale stench as though there wasn’t enough space for everything that was occupying it. Eric could feel his gut churning, watched a bead of sweat slip down Nick’s face as he planted the next brick. They both looked up to the sky, to the mountain of cocoons that had seemed so far away from the embankment where their friends were waiting. Eric could hear Jason in his ear, imploring them to turn back, but he and Nick needed only the swiftest of glances at each other to know that wasn’t an option. These fucking things - these monsters - that had waited down here in the darkness had to pay for what they had taken. An eye for an eye: for Clarice, for Joey, for Merwin, for all the soldiers that had died. For that poor skeleton who had wasted in the cell. For the explorers who killed themselves so that nothing buried here could reach the surface. They dropped low and made their way between two walls of rock, creeping ever closer to the nest of unhatched aliens. These things were flammable - dynamite at the base of this mound would create a pyre of screaming burning death. It had to be done. Eric had heard Jason say they were in the clear, but the air pressed tighter against his body and he knew. He put the UV light back in its holster and took out the flare, watching Nick with one eye, and dozens of descending aliens with the other. At least Rachel would get out. He knew Nick was thinking that too. 

They walked as far from the dynamite as the hissing, snapping aliens would allow, and then Eric popped the flare.

“Sorry about fucking your wife, man. She fucking healed me though. She made it worth something to be alive.” Eric nodded, unsure of what to say, but there wasn’t really anything to say anyway. He realised, belatedly, that he didn’t even know Dar’s last na-

*

Nick was talking. He shouldn’t be, but he was. They should be dead. He couldn’t hear what Nick was saying, his ears were ringing, but he could hear his voice, hear the stress, and see the fire above him. He had been right, a pyre was burning brightly, the cocoons turned to coffins. And then suddenly he was hoisted off his back and tossed aside like a rag-doll, hitting a wall with enough force to knock him momentarily unconscious again. When he opened his eyes, his vision was swimming, and something that should have been dead, but which was very much alive, was holding Nick high by the throat, squeezing the life out of him. Eric tried to stand but his limbs wouldn’t support him; tried to shout but he didn’t have enough air. Could only watch and wait, until the undead guardian was done with Nick, and his turn came… 

Gunfire and voices, Kolchek pulling him to his feet as Salim drove a metal rod through the dead-man, Kolchek pulling him along, urging speed when Eric could barely get his feet beneath him, more gunfire, more voices, yelling and pushing and pulling, utter confusion as Eric tried and failed to understand what was happening. Surely the devil had taken him? But no - Jason and Salim had come to their rescue. Eric fell in behind Rachel as they ran, the ground shaking as parts of the vast ceiling came crashing down, as aliens flew screaming for safety, as they tripped and stumbled away from the violent explosions of the nest. Up and over, up and over and Eric promised himself if they got out alive he wouldn’t move for a week. They climbed onto a circular plateau and looked back, Jason making a quick headcount, and snapping “where the fuck is Salim?”

Eric whipped his head around, alarm crawling up his spine, but there was Dar, bent double to catch his breath, fresh blood seeping from his wound. 

Jason tried his radio, the static whispering back. Nick and Rachel were ready to move - to run back to the elevator but Jason was livid. Salim was begging Jason to tell his son that he did everything possible to get back to him, and Jason spat venom at his team “Marine’s don’t leave a man behind. Semper Fucking Fi - you hear that Salim, you can tell your kid yourself, I’m coming to get you.”

He didn’t wait for any of them to so much as breath, jumping off the plateau and charging back the way they came. Eric’s head snapped to the right.

“Get to the elevator, make sure it’s ready to go.”

Nick looked like he wanted to argue, wanted to leave. But Rachel was the stronger. A smile danced about her lips and as she quipped out a ‘yes, sir’. Nick was left with no option but to follow her. Dar and Eric proceeded slower, Eric taking his time to try and inspect Dar’s wound while Dar tried to swat him away. He said something in Arabic, something about Salim, but Eric could only hope that reassuring him that Jason was a capable soldier was the answer he was looking for. He’d have to get Rachel to teach him at least some basic Arabic after this.

They reached the elevator where Rachel and Nick were waiting, Rachel standing in front of it like a ticket inspector at the fair. Nick had taken up a point position. Eric hustled Dar onto the elevator, pulled out his gun and mirrored Nick. The wait for Kolchek and Salim was painfully tense, the air was choked with dust and particles of god-only-knew-what, the ground was rumbling as though threatening the oncoming of a stampede, a hot breeze blew fetid wind in their faces and the ever present squeals of death plugged up their ears. Fear began to take a hold of Eric’s heart, pumping adrenaline, telling him to run, flee, hide. The sight of Kolchek and Salim running up to them almost pulled his legs out from underneath him. But nothing was chasing them, and nothing followed them up the elevator shaft. It had worked! 

Eric grinned along with him team - with his friends - as Jason praised them - “the best of the best!” He threw his fist up, yelling OORAH! He felt the adrenaline rush through his system, turning to exhilaration. When Jason prompted Salim to join their battlecry, he turned to Dar. But he didn’t need Rachel translating “in your dreams” because it was written all over the Iraqi’s face. But he was smiling, and so Eric clapped him on the shoulder. A friendly gesture to make him feel included. Even if he was the teacher surrounded by a group of school kids.

When they came to the climbing ropes, Eric and Dar went first. Salim and Rachel followed, but when Nick and Kolchek’s turn came, Eric looked over the side to see Jason starting into the waterfall. Now was not the time to be overcome by awe. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but he hoped Kay was encouraging his friend to move on. When Clarice leapt screaming from the water, Eric felt an involuntary cry rip from his throat. It came from a place of guilt and fear, and he heard Rachel yell out CLARICE next to him, but she neither heard not heeded them, going instead for Kolchek. But even as she was, she was no match for two Marine’s hyped up on adrenaline and a desperate need to survive. 

The run through the temple was treacherous. Stone fell from the ceiling as the ground moved constantly beneath them. Though nothing was following them, the threat of being crushed to death was ever present. But the massive shifting of the temple had yielded one excellent result that made Eric’s heart soar - a giant stone hand was raised to the sky, the hole above it close enough to reach with a rope - there was a way out - they were free! Eric pushed Dar up the giant arm - the other man was slowing down, the adrenaline wearing off and fatigue and blood loss replacing it. Nick had the rope, and watching him swing it up, Eric finally allowed himself to let go of some of the fear. To leave it behind in this place. He didn’t need it anymore, it wouldn’t help him in the sun - the sun the aliens could not survive in. As he climbed, he let it wash over his face, as he emerged into the fresh air and sunlight, a laugh bubbled up and burst from within him. An infectious laugh that passed between them, as they whooped and hollered and pretended to kiss the dirt. Kolchek had Salim in a crushing embrace. He could have sworn Kay was crying. Eric himself lay down flat next to Dar and just looked up. Breathed in. Watched as the sun…

…went dark.

Eclipse.

“RUN! Everybody to the huts!” Jason’s voice ripped through the fading light like a missile. Eric dragged Dar to his feet as they fled, sudden screaming pouring out of their escape, beating wings on their tails, the stench of death on their necks. Into the hut they ran, slamming the door, grabbing old furniture and barricading the windows. How many of them were armed? Kolchek, Kay and Dar had rifles, but Eric knew there were barely any bullets between them. A Glock in his own hands, and the UV light, Rachel had a pistol and Salim was left holding a stake - could they do this? “How long’s a fucking eclipse go for?” “Six minutes.” Why did he have to know that? “We don’t have six fuckin’ minutes!” “I CAN’T RUSH THE DAMN MOON!”

How they survived that fight, Eric could never remember. Whenever he tried to, red light would fill his mind, burning flesh would fill his nose, and his senses would be assaulted with the pain of trying to rip something out that the body begged to be forgetting. He remembered the first close screech, the echo of bullets, the sting of otherworldly blood. He remembered holding fire, and he remembered the sliver of yellow sunlight - and then opening his eyes, laying awkwardly on the floor, with Dar slumped next to him clenching and unclenching bloody fists. But try as he might he could pull nothing more from the recesses of his brain, and maybe that was for the best.

“They have to go.” Rachel’s voice. Eric looked up. She was talking to Jason but she was referring to both Salim and Dar. Ever the pragmatist - their new friends could not be here, had to be miles and miles away, before Evac showed up. Eric looked sideways at Dar, who looked back at him, nodded, and said something in Arabic. He looked to Rachel for translation.

“He said he better go and see a doctor.”

Eric felt a sick, sad chuckle tumble out of his mouth. He hoisted himself painfully to his feet and then, instead of dragging Dar as he’d become accustomed to doing, held out his hand. He got a raised eyebrow behind the plastic Prada knockoffs in return, but Dar took the pro-offered hand. Exiting the hut, Eric was just in time to see Salim knock away Jason’s awkward handshake and pull him into a hug. He looked at Dar, but a hug would have just caused the other man pain. Instead, they walked further away, to the edge of the circle of huts, and Eric offered his hand.

“You’re not so bad, as it turns out. Wish you’d minded your own damn business but then you’d have missed out on all of this.”

Dar dropped Eric’s hand, and squeezed his shoulder. He said something in Arabic which, when Eric tried to repeat it to Rachel later, was approximately translated to mean “if you are ever in Badra-Mandali, look me up. Quietly.”

They looked at each other for a moment, before Eric pointed to himself again. 

“King. Eric King.”

Dar’s eyes glinted behind the darkened shades in a way that suggested he knew the word king, and thought it an amusing last name. He reached up and took off his beret, placing it with little obvious care on Eric’s head.

“Dar Basri.”

Eric heard two sets of footsteps behind him as Jason and Salim approached. Salim and Dar exchanged words, before Salim turned to Jason one more time.

“Thank you, my friend.”

“You wish Zain a happy birthday from me.”

There was something unspoken between them, but Dar was already walking away. Salim didn’t hurry to catch up with him, simply walking at his own pace. Jason and Eric stood for a long while, watching them leave before Jason turned to walk away.

“You think maybe we’re on the wrong side of the war, Colonel.”